Fix You

They walked over to a café near the exit, trying to avoid the milling passengers. Hanna and Claire walked ahead, Claire holding Matty’s outstretched hand, a smile plastered over her face. They all knew the ordeal wasn’t over yet, that the divides hadn’t been bridged, but Richard could feel himself hope that one day they would be.

If he squinted his eyes and looked into the future, there was nothing he wanted more than to be surrounded by all the people he loved.

A CRASHING SOUND coming from another room woke him up. His eyes were bleary and glued by sleep, the room dark and unfamiliar. He rubbed them a little, trying to orient himself, the strange green light of the bedside clock not helping him to work out his location.

His mouth was parched, and he reached out to the table next to his bed, his hand groping for a glass of water. He came up empty.

It took Matty’s wail to echo through the wall before he realized exactly where he was.

In London.

In a hotel.

In the middle of the night.

He sat straight up in his bed, reaching behind him to flick the light switch on the wooden headboard. The bedside lamp glowed warm and yellow, enough to illuminate but not startle. Everything in this room had been planned to pamper and coddle.

There was another cry, followed by a lower voice. Hanna was murmuring to him, maybe trying to relax him back to sleep. From the sound of his angry riposte, Matty was having none of it.

Pulling back the covers, Richard swung his legs out of bed, glancing down to check he was covered enough to be seen. His plaid pajama bottoms hung from his hips, his chest bare and glowing under the glare of the lamp.

He walked across the expensive carpet and out into the main room, pushing the door open quietly in case Matty had already dropped back to sleep. Hanna was pacing the wooden floor in her bare feet. The lacquer on her nails was almost black in the half-light. Matty struggled in her arms, his hands beating her back as she made a doomed attempt to placate him.

“Everything okay?” Richard’s voice was soft as he approached her, but she jumped, nevertheless. Hanna looked up at him, her eyes wide, giving him an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you up. He escaped from the cot. It must be shallower than the one we have at home.” One of the straps of her camisole had slipped down her shoulder revealing smooth, alabaster skin. It looked like porcelain in the dark room.

“Is he okay?” Richard’s brow furrowed. “It must have been a long way down.”

Hanna smiled. “He’s fine. He made it into this room before I was even aware what was happening. I swear he has a bright future ahead of him as an escape artist.”

As if he realized they were talking about him, Matty wailed again, his tone taking on a desperate edge. He looked up at Richard with red-rimmed eyes, his face screwed up in anger.

“Do you want me to take him?” Richard’s voice was still low. He was distracted by her skin. He could remember the way it tasted.

“I think he’s frightened, he doesn’t recognize where he is. I feel a bit disoriented myself.” Their eyes caught and locked, and for a moment they were silent, feeling the blanket of energy pushing down on them all. Then Matty opened his mouth again and screamed.

Richard reached forward and ran his hand across Matty’s cheek. It surprised him enough to quiet him momentarily while he took in the change. “Hey, Matty, it’s sleep time,” Richard murmured, his hand gentle but firm.

“Daddy.” Matty reached out to him, his voice a plaintive wail. Richard scooped him up, relieving Hanna of the burden, holding his son tightly against his chest in an attempt to make him feel safe. It seemed to work; his breathing became slower, more regular, and his hand moved up to his mouth, thumb extended. Richard rubbed his back, swaying gently in time to a silent rhythm, his head buried in his son’s hair.

He smelled so good.

“Shall I try to put him down?” Richard asked, looking up at Hanna. She was standing by the dining table, fiddling with the kettle.

“Yes, please. I think I’ll put him in the bed with me. I don’t want to risk him falling out of his cot again, it could have been so much worse.”

Richard walked into her room, the fragrance both familiar and enticing. It reminded him of lazy days in London, and frantic nights in New York. Matty yawned, thumb firmly stuck in his mouth, and let Richard lay him on the undented pillow, his eyes fluttering under the weight of his fatigue.

“Try to sleep.” He leaned forward and kissed Matty’s cheek, the plump skin smooth against his lips. Matty sighed, twisting his body until he was lying on his side, legs curled under his diapered rump. He stayed for a moment, watching his son as his lips worked themselves against his thumb, the occasional slurp breaking the silence of the night.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmured, walking out of the bedroom and pulling the door closed behind him. He glanced around, spotting Hanna sitting on the plush upholstered sofa, her legs curled beneath her, hands wrapped around a mug of tea.

“I made you one, in case you’re thirsty.” She pointed over at the table. Richard walked over and retrieved the cup. The steam rose up as he lifted the mug to his lips, hot sweet liquid spilling over the rim into his mouth. He swallowed it like a dying man.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hanna’s reply was rigidly polite. Richard wondered what would crack the barrier; bring it falling down until all that was left was raw wounds and honesty.